I have taken to pimping out the natural foods store near my house. Literally.
It’s a Thursday evening. I stand outside the natural food store near my house. I hold in my hands a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables which I purchased at said store. They’re fresher than what you can get from the farmer’s market. They’re as delicious as anything you could grow in your own home. Can you grow them? No, you live in San Francisco. So you’re looking at me.
A man walks by on the sidewalk. I hold out a basket of strawberries. He glances at them, then looks at me, never breaking his stride. I wink menacingly. He breaks eye contact and hurries on. It was obvious he wanted them though. He’ll be back.
A young woman strides by in yoga pants and a baggy, gray knitted sweater. She has a gym bag. She’s wearing sunglasses even though the sun’s almost set and it’s cloudy and cold. I whip out two cobs of fresh, sweet, white corn. I thrust them toward her. She dodges, frowns. She’s obviously not in the mood tonight; I move on.
I’ve moved to the corner. I hold my wares in plain sight: two oranges, the corn, the strawberries, a bunch of kale, and four avocados. A car slows as it passes. “You lookin’ for a nice meal?”, I ask. The passenger and driver exchange a glance. “How much?”